Chapter Twenty-Five
Warning: The beginning of this chapter is NOT for sensitive readers. It really delves into what made David what he is, and it deals with an issue that is still happening today, unfortunately. So, just a word of caution before you begin to read.
The oil lamp burned brightly in David's study. He sat at his desk scribbling furiously in his journal. The calm had rushed out of him after the dam had broken, and now, he was frantic, unsettled and very unhappy. He scribbled mercilessly, spilling his hatred, anger, sadness and evil thoughts out onto the paper.
I hate her. I hate him. I hate them all. They did this to me. Touching. Always touching. The closet. I screamed. I wanted out. Let me out. Let me out! Let me live! Why do you hate me? I love you. I hate you. Why mother? Father? Why? Leave me alone! Stop! No longer a little boy. Grown up. Beaten. Broken. Violated. I hate them. Die. Bleed. Feel pain. From a mother's womb into the cruel world. Pushed out into the arms of abusers. Naked. Trembling. The corner. The belt. He's coming for me. They love me. They hate me. They hurt me. The lock clicks open. I grab the gun. Papa's gun. Did he even know it was missing? I hear it click. I hear them coming. It's all right. We love you. Understand. Understand nothing. The door opens. I pull the trigger. My hands shake and burn. Mother falls, her blood on the walls. Father screams and comes for me. I pull the trigger. No more. No more. Dead and gone.
David spilled his frustrations out, his repressed memories flooding back to him, killing him slowly. He screamed out. He didn't want to remember. He didn't want to remember why he was the way he was.
"No," he seethed, his fingers gripping the side of the chair so hard that his nails break and bleed. He was shaking. The eternal footman was near. He could see his black cloak in the corner of the room, pointing, pointing to the closet.. "No! No! No!" He ran. He ran from his room and broke out into the night. The air hit him heavily, knocking the air from his lungs. He was falling. He fell down the steps and onto the hard concrete sidewalk. He curled up like he did every night so many years ago. He curled up, crying, screaming, shaking, waiting for them to come for him. They were coming for him. He would die and spend forever being abused in Hell again.
Fifteen years earlier…
"Mr. and Mrs. Lewis," a doctor said in a hushed tone in the psychiatric ward of Sacramento hospital. "The agency says you wish to take him home with you? You wish to take him to Boston?" Mrs. Lewis nodded, tears in her eyes.
"Every child deserves a loving home, and we think that he might adjust better away from Sacramento. We think he can do great things if given a proper home, education and upbringing."
"You must understand, Mrs. Lewis, that this boy is very sensitive. He talks to himself. He's developed another side of himself. The prominent one has repressed the memories of his life with Mr. and Mrs. Laurence. But, he gets frustrated and upset. He won't talk. He's within himself," the doctor explained.
"Is it true about his parents? They did die?"
"Yes. It's true. What they did to him was so unforgiving. From what I've gathered, it had been going on for years. They'd hurt him in too many ways, and I believe this personality, the one that repressed the feelings and doesn't remember, I believe it came about when he decided to…to take his father's gun." Mr. Lewis cleared his throat.
"We were never blessed with children of our own," he said quietly. "We're willing to give him a good life. We're willing to take care of him."
"I'm sure you are, but I must caution you, that there is no clear line between his moods. One moment, he could be still and calm. The other, he could be shaking and sobbing for no reason. We've observed him for several months. The spells come and go, but he's learning how to control them. He's been good for the past few weeks, but I'm not sure if it's time to let him go yet. He'll need special care. There is no guarantee that he won't remember when he's older. He may act out. He may grow aggressive. He may try to hurt others in the way his parents hurt him."
"We're willing to take that chance, doctor. We want a child, and no matter what his needs are, he needs to be treated and raised properly and normally. We'll make life comfortable for him. We'll make sure he has a good life."
David cried out at the memory. He remembered sitting just inside Dr. Ashton's office, waiting for his new family to pick him up. He hadn't remembered how he'd lost his parents at that moment, but he was grateful for being able to live in a family that wanted him and loved him. Somehow he knew he'd never been loved before.
David pulled himself off of the empty sidewalk, and he scooted up to sit upon the porch steps. He rolled up the cuffs of his pant legs and saw the scars from the welts he'd once received from belt beatings. He felt the butt of the gun sticking into his side, and he pulled it into his hand. He had a choice right then and there. He remembered it all, and he could either use it all to start over, making amends for all of his wrongs, or he could throw it away and do what he needed to do. He could hurt her in the way he'd been hurt. He'd murdered before. What was one more beautiful dead body? What was one more pair of lifeless eyes staring up at him with fright? What was one more chance to feel hot blood on his hands for all of the pain he'd been caused. She'd hurt him deeply when she chose Sully.
His thumb cocked the gun, and he placed it back in his pocket. He stood, his hand on the railing. He looked up at the pale moon, and he knew what he had to do. She had hurt him. She had to die.
The music paused for the orchestra to take a short break. Michaela and Sully were still holding one another, lips caressing lips, hands caressing arms and backs. Michaela felt all of her passion pooling at her center, and she felt herself leaning into him, needing the closeness of him, the comfort of knowing his body wanted hers as much as hers wanted his. She wasn't alone in this frustration, and she could tell by the intensity of Sully's kisses that waiting was going to be difficult for him too, but they would do it. Michaela wanted a memorable, special wedding night, and no matter how hard it was to resist, she knew she had to. She wanted to.
They parted for breath, and Sully was sweating now. He looked into her eyes, both of which seemed to be golden under the haze of the moon. Her lips were inflamed with passion, the obvious evidence of a heated kiss. He ran his thumb across them, and she trembled with desire under his touch, closing her eyes and waiting for him to recapture her with another kiss. He did just that, pulling her in again. He grew brave, his lips traveling from hers down her neck, kissing her exposed collarbone, his tongue darting out ever so slightly to taste her delicious flesh.
"Sully," she whispered, surprised to hear a moan follow it. She bit her lip, needing more from him, but knowing this couldn't happen. "Sully…" Her neck arched back as he kissed his way back up to her mouth. She smiled as her skin started tingling. He desired her, and she felt that. She gasped, and Sully's lips claimed hers again. She kissed back with just as much fervor and enthusiasm, and they stumbled backward. Her hands rested on the terrace rail behind her, and she leaned back, leaning over it. The moonlight reflected off of the River Charles, illuminating the night for them. Sully felt her beginning to writhe against the railing, her own frustrations needing release.
He pulled back, his own lips now slightly inflamed. Michaela's face flushed, but she smiled at Sully. She touched her chin where his slight stubble had scratched her a little.
"Sorry," he said sheepishly. Michaela giggled as Sully's hand snaked around her waist and started to lead her toward the doors.
"I don't want to go in just yet," she said, hesitating. Sully turned back to her.
"Ya don't?" Michaela shook her head and turned to wrap her arms around him. Her head rested upon his chest, and she let out a content sigh.
"Just hold me for a little while." Sully chuckled and rested his chin gently atop her head. His arms encircled her protectively, and they enjoyed the sounds of the crickets and the infinite twinkling of the stars.
"When do ya wanna get married?" he asked quietly, hearing her slow breathing fill the night. "We really didn't discuss a day yet."
"I was hoping for August," she confessed. Sully smiled. "Right before we go to Colorado Springs." Sully smiled. He loved the way she looked forward to going to Colorado with him. He only hoped she would find it as magical as he did, though he worried about her. He knew she would still want to practice medicine, and though the citizens of Colorado hadn't accepted her as the town physician, she could easily start up her practice anyway. The only problem was that when she did, there might not be many patients for her. He prayed that it would work out for his love, and he hugged her tight. "Is that all right with you?" Sully smiled.
"It's just fine," he said softly. "Whatever makes you happy makes me happy. We could get married tomorrow if ya wanted." Michaela sighed happily, feeling absolutely on top of the world. "But I know ya want a big wedding." Michaela pulled back a little.
"Sully, I never said that," she said softly. "My sisters are just blowing it out of proportion. They had big weddings, so they're only assuming that I want one just as grand. Besides, the Quinn family always invites a lot of guests. All I care about is that my family is there and that we're married without any difficulties. I want to be your wife, Sully. I can't wait." She grinned up at him, and he smiled, leaning down to kiss her. "You don't mind about the big wedding, do you?"
"'Course not. I'm there for just one reason, and that's to be your husband and vow myself to ya forever." Michaela's hand ran along his cheek, and she sighed softly. "It don't matter if there are two, one hundred or five hundred guests. The only one I care 'bout bein' there is you." He pulled her close again, and when the music started up again, Michaela squeezed his hand.
"Perhaps we should go back in. I'm sure Mother and Father are beginning to wonder where we've gone." Sully nodded and led her back into the hotel ballroom. They made it back over to the Quinn table, and everyone glanced at them. It was obvious what they had been doing, judging by their swollen lips and rosy cheeks, but everyone decided to remain quiet. Sully pulled a chair out for Michaela, and she settled down. She smiled brightly.
"We've decided on a wedding date," Michaela beamed.
"Oh?" Marjorie and Rebecca asked in excited unison.
"Well, not a date, per-say, but we know about when it's going to take place."
"It will be before you go to Colorado, won't it?" Rebecca asked, her face paling at the thought of all of that wedding preparation they'd already done.
"It most certainly will be," Elizabeth spoke up, her hands clenching a cloth napkin. Everyone at the table, and a few guests nearby stopped and looked at Elizabeth. "I will not have a daughter of mine gallivanting off to the middle of some God-forsaken place with a man who is still practically a stranger without being married, even if it must be to him. Hasn't she brought enough shame to this family? I've had enough."
"Mother!" Michaela yelled, her heart thumping and her face glowing red with anger.
"It's true!" Elizabeth seethed. "Do you honestly think I don't notice when people stare at you with that…that character? At least when he wore those suits you bought him, he almost passed for being a citizen. Sure, you have him dressed up now, but the first thing he's going to do when we get home is put on that costume he's insisted on wearing since he arrived from Colorado Springs."
"That's enough, Mother!" Michaela had never seen her mother make such a public display. Elizabeth had always taught them that public displays were unwanted attention, and that arguing must be done in the home if it had to be done at all. Sully reached over to squeeze her hand as if to tell her it was alright, but her form was rigid, and her lips were pursed in a thin line. Oh, Hurricane Michaela was just about to hit full force.
"Mike," Josef said, clearing his throat. "Perhaps you and Sully would like to dance?" Michaela's eyes didn't leave her mother's, but she shook her head to acknowledge that she had heard her father. Finally, Elizabeth stood, threw her napkin down on her seat and held her posture. She turned gracefully, parted through the crowd, and charged off like a stampeding bull toward the ladies' waiting room.
Michaela watched as her mother walked away. She hated that. Every time they argued, Elizabeth would make her point and walk away. No, Michaela was not going to let that happen again! She started to move forward, but Rebecca held a hand out to her.
"Michaela, perhaps you should give Mother a moment to cool down," Rebecca said softly.
"I'm sorry, but I can't do that," Michaela said, her face blushing red from anger. Sully reached out to her when she started to walk away, and she turned to him. "I'm sorry about this." He nodded his understanding, and Josef patted him on the back. Michaela hurried off, and Josef instructed the orchestra to strike up another tune. Michaela pushed her way to the back of the ball room and opened up the wide swinging door that led into the ladies' waiting room. She immediately found Elizabeth standing at a full-length mirror, adjusting the pins in the back of her hair. Michaela locked the door behind herself. She needed privacy with her mother. Michaela glanced at her daughter's reflection in the mirror, not even giving her the common courtesy of turning to talk with her face to face.
"And here you are," Elizabeth said with a chuckle. "You never can let me have the last word, can you?"
"No, but you certainly always try," Michaela replied, crossing her arms across her chest. She studied her mother for a moment, and after so much silence, Elizabeth turned on her heels. Michaela stepped toward her. "Is that really how you feel? Is everything that you said…"
"Every word," Elizabeth cut her off coldly.
"You had no right to say what you said, Mother," Michaela replied, a hint of sadness in her voice, but it was quickly covered up with a look of defiance. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "Is that how you see me? I'm an embarrassment?"
"Yes," Elizabeth replied without a thought. Michaela was stunned. "You have been nothing but an embarrassment to this family since you first professed your wishes to go to college and then to medical school. You were never like the other girls. You weren't playing with your dolls. You were taking them to your father and asking them why they wouldn't blink. Why they wouldn't bleed. You weren't normal!" Michaela felt the tears stinging and threatening to fall. "Taking you out anywhere was a challenge. You insisted on carrying around a doctor's bag like your father's. You grew out of that, thank God, when you turned thirteen, but it wasn't long before you were at it again, professing your want to go off and do a man's job."
"Mother you can't…"
"Oh Michaela, I have tried to be proud! I've tried to look past my disapproval and accept your choices, but I cannot! Those attempts to approve have only ended in my being ashamed of you!" Michaela felt as if she'd been run over and left for dead in the middle of an alley. Michaela took a few backward steps toward the door, her eyes flooded with tears, her face stinging red as if she'd been slapped. But Lizzie Quinn certainly wasn't through. "If you insist on going through with this travesty of a wedding, I will not be in attendance. If you go through with is, you can consider yourself disowned." Elizabeth turned self-righteously back toward the mirror. Michaela was frozen.
"I love Sully, Mother," Michaela said, her voice quivering in anger. "Nothing and no one will ever change my mind about loving him or marrying him." Elizabeth gave a bored chuckle.
"You say that now, but when he's left you battered on the floor and run off with some trollop, don't come running home crying to me. You know exactly what I'll say to that." Michaela shook her head. She couldn't bare to hear anymore of her mother's outlandish accusations.
"You're wrong about him!" She was shaking furiously. "I don't care if you come to the wedding or not," she lied. "I don't need your approval now. After twenty-six years of your obvious disapproval, why should you start being supportive now? I don't need your blessing. I can see now that I don't need anything from you." She didn't know what to say anymore. Right now, her relationship with her mother seemed irreparable. All she could do was walk away. She needed to be alone.
Sully noticed Michaela leave the room, and he watched as she bolted for the front doors. Sully stood up, and Josef tugged on his coat sleeve.
"If there's anything I know about Quinn women," Josef began, "it's that they always need a few moments alone before you join them. Don't rush, son. She'll still be there in a few minutes."
"Father's right," Marjorie piped up. "We usually need a few moments to cool down after speaking with mother. Come. Dance with me, and then you can go after Michaela." Sully shook his head apprehensively.
"Oh, come along," she said, practically dragging him onto the dance floor. Even as they danced, Sully's eyes stayed transfixed on the door, hoping to see Michaela re-emerge soon.
Outside, Michaela leaned against the brick of the building, feeling the humid June air enter her lungs and cling heavily, choking her. But it felt better than being inside under her mother's scrutiny. She hated that woman at that very moment. She questioned how she could have possibly come from such a vile-hearted woman, but then she remembered that she was her father's daughter. Thank God for that! At least three of the five Quinn daughters had turned out rather normal.
She took a deep breath, waiting for her anger to subside, but before that happened, a figure stepped out of the darkness behind her. She felt his hand on her shoulder, and she frowned. That didn't feel like Sully's familiar touch. She turned to see David standing before her, an emotionless, unfeeling expression upon his face. Michaela's eyes widened, and she looked toward the doors.
"David, you're not supposed to be here. You know the law," she breathed.
"I know the law," he said in a low voice. His hand reached into his pocket, and he found the butt of the gun. His fingers curled around that prized weapon, and his cold, pain-filled gaze threatened tears of ice.
"David, you should leave," Michaela said quickly, turning to walk into the door.
"I only want to talk for a minute." When she didn't stop, his hand reached out, grabbing her hard by the arm, his fingers leaving white pressure marks upon her flesh. "You're not going anywhere." Inside of his coat pocket, his finger fumbled at the trigger, but he steadied his hand, eager to reveal his plans for Michaela's fate.